What follows is a mythopoetic interpretation — a kind of Aesop fable — that explores the contrasting styles we see playing out today in efforts to transform government operations. It’s not meant as a literal account or a technical memo, but rather as a symbolic reflection on the temperaments, postures, and energies that shape change in the public sector.

Once upon a time, in a restless land of marble halls, cubicles, and humming servers, two tribes moved through the realm of government.

The DOGE came bounding in first — tails wagging, chainsaws roaring, slogans flying. “Disruption!” barked the DOGE. “We’re taking a chainsaw to bureaucracy!” Wherever DOGE went, papers flew, org charts splintered, and innovation decks multiplied like rabbits.

One evening, a DOGE chieftain — a friend of a friend — laughed over drinks: “You know, only five or ten percent of our IT staff know how to code!” The irony hung in the air. Of course, those numbers swept up all the administrators and vendor managers and legacy system caretakers, not just the software engineers. But precision wasn’t the point. The bark was the point — the thrill of disruption, the image of a sleeping bureaucracy rattled awake by fearless reformers.

Yet for all its energy, DOGE often floundered.

With a chainsaw in paw, it tore through systems it barely understood. Legacy platforms, ancient contracts, delicate human networks — all fell under its blade. The result was bewildered ruins: processes half-destroyed, systems half-replaced, and a chorus of frustrated civil servants left to patch together the mess. For every vendor banished, two more appeared under a new name. For every hierarchy flattened, new power struggles rose from the rubble. And as DOGE bounded forward, it made enemies — often among those who might once have been allies.

Across the hills, in the quieter lands, the CAT stirred.

CAT didn’t bark. CAT didn’t carry a chainsaw. CAT watched. And it learned.

Take Orion — a friend working in a California state agency. Orion didn’t wait for permission or a program. He learned Python on his own. He automated his job down to 15 or 20 percent of the workload it once required. He led a local search and rescue team on weekends. He pursued a master’s in computer science at night.

Orion didn’t storm the gates of government; he slipped in through the cracks and made things better. He became part of the system, reshaping it quietly, molecule by molecule.

Where DOGE burned with a broad fire, CAT offered targeted burns to prevent the wildfire — finding the small but critical interventions that cleared space for new growth. Where DOGE made enemies, CAT built allies — the curious analyst, the frustrated supervisor, the exhausted frontline worker. Together they made the machine work better, not by smashing it, but by understanding it.

And the most beautiful part? CAT built on what worked. It didn’t sneer at the past. It honored the subject matter experts. It empowered the quiet heroes — the ones who cared enough to make themselves obsolete for the sake of progress.

One day, the DOGE and the CAT met at the edge of the forest. The DOGE, panting and singed, looked at the thriving grove on the CAT’s side — a place where old and new grew together. “How did you do it?” asked the DOGE.

The CAT only smiled, eyes half-closed, and said, “I made friends. And I listened.”

So, dear reader, here is the fable: the future of government won’t be won only with chainsaws, nor only with caution. It will be won by knowing where to prune, where to plant, where to let go — and above all, by empowering the people already inside, waiting to build something better.

Will you run with the DOGE or walk with the CAT?